


Touch

by DerpingLina



Category: The Dark Crystal: Age of Resistance (TV)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Torture, beginnings of panic attack, head trauma related confusion, set right after skekGra's branding as heretic, sir that's my emotional support mystic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-31
Updated: 2020-07-31
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:34:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25629052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DerpingLina/pseuds/DerpingLina
Summary: He woke in a haze.Body aching, stomach turning, head in such pain it made him nauseous. Shivering, from heat or cold he couldn’t tell. There… there was smoke, the sweet kind that he – wait, no, not him, the other him, urGoh – liked.
Relationships: skekGra & urGoh (Dark Crystal)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 10





	Touch

He woke in a haze.

Body aching, stomach turning, head in such pain it made him nauseous. Shivering, from heat or cold he couldn’t tell. There… there was smoke, the sweet kind that he – wait, no, not him, the other him, _urGoh_ – liked.

_Is he okay?_

_Whathappened??_

_Ithurtsithurtsithurtsithurts-_

Good for the pain, the Mystic had said, under a tree in the rain, both of them nursing a broken leg each. A chance meeting, one he had nearly forgotten about. The smell brought it back.

How long ago was that, was that a faraway memory, or recent?

_Ineedtofindhimwearehurtareweindanger-_

His thoughts were a jumble, panic rising in him for reasons he could not recall. His legs were tangled in sheets – Was he in a bed? – hands twisting in them before letting go and blindly flailing, reaching, searching. He couldn’t see, eyes covered – head covered. Did he smell his own blood? Did he smell urGoh’s?

He heard screams in his head, words clear but not quite making sense in his jumbled mind. They were angry, accusatory. What'd happened?

_Soloudsoloud **HERETIC** nostopithurtsithurts **WEMUSTBEPUNISHED** nonononoforgiveforgiveplease-_

Everything felt about as bad as the Sundering. Perhaps even worse, somehow. Was he – were _they_ dying?

“G-… ‘Goh…“ he forced himself to say, breath shallow, mouth too dry, barely recognising his own pathetic voice over the ringing in his ear canals. His moving about caused a sharp pain to run through him from head to tail, making him choke on air, freezing up until it ebbed away.

_AreyouokaywhereamIwhereareyou-_

A finger briefly brushed against his still outstretched hand to his right. Warm. Just a touch stopped his shivering. A soft, barely-there sound around a throat as dry as his.

_…UrGoh._

He made another noise, unbecoming and needy, lost, desperate, quickly shutting up when even that caused the pain to flare up, hearing a soft hiss from his right. Swallowing down another wave of nausea, keeping from whimpering, he carefully reached his hand out. Fingers brushed for a moment, brushed again, then stayed connected, arms outstretched. Warm. Alive. Safe?

He felt that the bandages around his eyes were wetter than before. His breath was shuddering as he gulped for air, trying to keep it as silent as he could, not wanting to cause more pain for himself and – his other self. A faintly salty smell joined the rest.

_IamsosorryIamsorrywhyamIsorry-_

He heard a soft croon, quiet, as those fingers wrapped around his hand more, giving a gentle squeeze. He hiccupped. The other’s thumb was making small circles where it touched the back of his hand, slow, so slow. It was grounding. He hadn’t even realised when his breathing synced up with the motion.

In his mind the words were still swarming, wanting to ask nine hundred and ninety-nine and one questions, wanting to apologise, wanting his mouth to let out any other sound than the pitiful sobs that had begun to bubble up now that he was not hyperventilating. Had he ever cried in his existence? He couldn’t remember. But apparently no words were needed. The hand held on, dry, calloused, warm fingers holding his surely, the thumb not stopping in its feather-light motions. Circles that reminded him of the swirls covering his other half's hands - now being gently carved into his own, he felt.

SkekGra held on as if his life depended on it – and maybe it did – the only noise in the room his cries and his other half’s soft sounds of comfort.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally this was supposed to be a plotpoint of my series [Under the Same Suns](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22517527/chapters/53807284) but then I realised I wasn't quite cut out for series-writing. So have this short piece on its own.
> 
> Oh small detail not featuring in this: they are at the Healer's. UrGoh somehow managed to drag them both to wherever urIm is at to get some proper treatment to the nail and all.
> 
> Anyways, thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed!


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